


Role-Modeling For Dummies

by louciferish



Series: Fanfiction for Reproductive Rights [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Clubbing, Drunk Katsuki Yuuri, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Phichit Chulanont Uses Instagram, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 20:01:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18858094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish/pseuds/louciferish
Summary: Phichit spots a message on the stream, asking if he’s still at the banquet, and grins. “Noooooo. Banquet’s already ended for the night. This is the,” he pauses to waggle his eyebrows. “After-banquet. You guys want to check it out?”Judging by the flurry of prayer emojis flying at him, they very much do.





	Role-Modeling For Dummies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brave_Soul_And_Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brave_Soul_And_Heart/gifts).



> This is the first of the fics I'll be writing in exchange for donations to non-profit organizations that support reproductive autonomy, in response to the recent wave of anti-choice legislation in the US. You can find more information on what I'm doing with these [on my twitter](https://twitter.com/louciferish/status/1128663167658340353).

“Hellooooo, world!” Phichit chirps, his own face reflected back at him in startlingly high definition on his phone screen. His pores are looking great tonight. Little icons fly across in front of his eyes as his followers begin to tune in, greetings and encouragement in a variety of languages flying at him from all over the world.

The club is dark, and electronic dance music is playing loud enough that Phichit can feel it in the balls of his feet, so he angles himself toward one of the bar lights and presses the speaker closer to his lips. “Welcome to Worlds 2017, everybody! Thanks for your support through another history-making season.”

He spots a message that pops up, asking if he’s still at the banquet, and grins. “Noooooo. Banquet’s already ended for the night. This is the,” he pauses to waggle his eyebrows. “ _After-banquet_. You guys want to check it out?”

Judging by the flurry of prayer emojis flying at him, they very much do.

“Okay! Hang on just a moment.” He hops down from the barstool he’d been perched on and scans the room for a good target. He needs to entertain his followers, but doesn’t want to embarrass any of the other skaters trying to relax and have a good time. 

Beneath the swirling glitter of the disco ball, Phichit spots Chris and grins. Chris is impossible to embarrass, so Phichit swings the camera in that direction, watching as Chris sways his hips and runs his own fingers down his chest, toying with the hem of his crop top. He swirls around the flashes of light like they’re his own personal spotlight. Some enterprising rando slinks up to him, placing his hands low on Chris’s waist, and Phichit captures the exact moment when Chris steps back into the grip—and grinds his heel down hard on the stranger’s toes.

Ouch. Well-deserved, but still ouch. As the guy limps away, Phichit moves the stream along, refocusing on a darker patch of the dance floor where Mila and Sara are dancing together, both in slinky little black dresses, their slim arms up over their heads. Sara is smiling so widely that her teeth flash white across the room. 

Phichit’s about to zoom in when his view is suddenly blocked—Mickey, arms folded across his chest, stands guard over his sister with a fierce glare and no concept of what he ought to be guarding her _from_. Phichit doesn’t feel like dealing with that tonight, so he pans away. For a moment, he tries to capture Yuri Plisetsky, who is leaning against a wall in the corner with Otabek Altin, but the poor lighting and their black clothes blend together until it’s too much for his phone to pick out the details.

Phichit is about to give up on the stream when he spots Yuuri and Victor near the bar. Perfect. Victor’s face is flushed and Yuuri is hanging off his shoulders like a sloth draped along a tree branch, talking more into Victor’s neck than his ear. Phichit approaches stealthily at first, then pops up in front of them, phone at the ready.

“Look, everyone! It’s my good friend, Yuuri.” Phichit shoves himself in on the other side of Victor and holds the phone at arm’s length, fighting to fit all three of them in the selfie shot. “Yuuri, how does it feel to be a World Champion? Any words of inspiration for our audience at home?”

It’s only when Yuuri faces the camera that Phichit begins to realize his mistake. Yuuri’s eyes are heavy-lidded, his smile sloppy as he nuzzles into the side of Victor’s shoulder. The World Champion is _wasted_.

Somehow, Yuuri still makes eye contact with the camera, focusing in on the screen. His face goes dead serious for a second as he readies himself to impart his advice to the next generation. 

“Victor’s titties are so big that I can motorboat them,”he declares, deadpan.

Yuuri then dives face-first into Victor’s half-unbuttoned shirt to demonstrate. 

Phichit quickly spins the camera back to himself, though he knows the audience can probably still hear Victor laughing shamelessly in the background. “You heard it here first,” Phichit says, winking at the stream as it fills with eggplant and peach emojis. “Stay in school, kids.”

In the seconds before he manages to end the video, he captures a few seconds of Yuuri over his shoulder, attempting to climb Victor like a tree. The screen goes black.

The next morning, Phichit wakes up to his first-ever hangover and 452 new followers on his Instagram account.


End file.
